minutes on the bus was al that separated the two col eges, and plenty of Cleo’s hotel management lecturers must have thought that Trish was enrol ed there instead of on the business degree course across the River Liffey.
‘We could be size six if we wanted to,’ Trish said. ‘If we didn’t eat and had some of our important organs removed, then yes, it’s a distinct possibility.’ Cleo opened the swing door of the pub and felt the welcoming warmth of central heating on high.
‘Why are you so grumpy?’ demanded Trish, once they’d found a cosy nook and ordered two coffees.
‘I turned down the Donegal job.’
‘You didn’t!’
‘I did.’ Cleo almost couldn’t believe it herself. It wasn’t the job she’d longed for - just assistant manager at the smal Kilbeggan Castle Hotel in a ruggedly beautiful part of Donegal
but it was her first real job. And she’d said no. She must have been mad.
The man who owned the Kilbeggan Castle clearly thought so too.
‘You were so keen and interested …’ he’d said in irritation when she’d phoned after getting the job offer in the post. ‘I am so sorry,’ Cleo said. ‘I didn’t mean to waste your time.’
‘Wel , you did.’
‘Not intentional y,’ she interrupted. ‘It’s just something’s suddenly cropped up. You know I come from a hotel background? Wel , there’s a good reason for me to stay at home and work with my family right now.’
‘I know tourism is down,’ the man said. ‘We’re al feeling the pinch because people are too nervous to fly any more. I suppose your place is hit the same way. Enough said.’ He sighed. ‘I suppose I’l be reading your name in conjunction with al sorts of great ventures in the future. We were al very impressed with you, Miss Malin.’
‘Thank you,’ said Cleo with regret. Instinct told her Kilbeggan Castle would have been a lovely place to work.
She was mad to turn it down. But in the end she just couldn’t bring herself to give up on her heritage. She had to try to drag the Wil ow and her family kicking and screaming into the new century before the hotel went under.
‘You’re mad,’ Trish said. ‘Stone mad. Sorry, I know that’s rude, but you are.’ She glared across the smal pub table at Cleo, the way she’d been glaring at Cleo since that first day in Miss Minton’s class in Carrickwel Primary School, where they’d both decided they wanted to sit on the blue wooden chair and a fight had ensued with hair-pul ing and lots of wild screaming.
Eighteen years later, there was no hair-pul ing in the relationship, but occasional y there was a bit of screaming.
Cleo had last roared at Trish when her friend shamefacedly admitted that she hadn’t actual y dumped her current boyfriend as planned, even though he’d been seen in a clinch with another woman at a New Year’s party.
‘He says he’s sorry,’ Trish protested.
‘Until the next time,’ Cleo said angrily. ‘If he did that to me, he’d be on his way to casualty right now, whining for a morphine suppository to put him out of his misery.’ She meant it. Cleo mightn’t have had a long line of boyfriends but those she’d had had known not to mess her around.
The guy who’d promised devotion after one evening, and that he’d phone but hadn’t, would always remember having his drink poured over his head in the pub the next day while Cleo loudly, and to the amusement of the whole premises, told him not to make promises he didn’t intend to keep.
‘Honesty is the best policy,’ she’d said as he sat with beer dripping down his astonished face. ‘If you didn’t want to see me again, al you had to do was say so. I’m not the sort of woman who likes waiting for the phone to ring.’
Today, Trish was the one trying to make her friend see sense. ‘Why did you turn it down? Why? It was a perfectly good job. What is the point of saying no to a good job in Donegal when your family takes no notice of you? Your dad’s not going
‘We could be size six if we wanted to,’ Trish said. ‘If we didn’t eat and had some of our important organs removed, then yes, it’s a distinct possibility.’ Cleo opened the swing door of the pub and felt the welcoming warmth of central heating on high.
‘Why are you so grumpy?’ demanded Trish, once they’d found a cosy nook and ordered two coffees.
‘I turned down the Donegal job.’
‘You didn’t!’
‘I did.’ Cleo almost couldn’t believe it herself. It wasn’t the job she’d longed for - just assistant manager at the smal Kilbeggan Castle Hotel in a ruggedly beautiful part of Donegal
but it was her first real job. And she’d said no. She must have been mad.
The man who owned the Kilbeggan Castle clearly thought so too.
‘You were so keen and interested …’ he’d said in irritation when she’d phoned after getting the job offer in the post. ‘I am so sorry,’ Cleo said. ‘I didn’t mean to waste your time.’
‘Wel , you did.’
‘Not intentional y,’ she interrupted. ‘It’s just something’s suddenly cropped up. You know I come from a hotel background? Wel , there’s a good reason for me to stay at home and work with my family right now.’
‘I know tourism is down,’ the man said. ‘We’re al feeling the pinch because people are too nervous to fly any more. I suppose your place is hit the same way. Enough said.’ He sighed. ‘I suppose I’l be reading your name in conjunction with al sorts of great ventures in the future. We were al very impressed with you, Miss Malin.’
‘Thank you,’ said Cleo with regret. Instinct told her Kilbeggan Castle would have been a lovely place to work.
She was mad to turn it down. But in the end she just couldn’t bring herself to give up on her heritage. She had to try to drag the Wil ow and her family kicking and screaming into the new century before the hotel went under.
‘You’re mad,’ Trish said. ‘Stone mad. Sorry, I know that’s rude, but you are.’ She glared across the smal pub table at Cleo, the way she’d been glaring at Cleo since that first day in Miss Minton’s class in Carrickwel Primary School, where they’d both decided they wanted to sit on the blue wooden chair and a fight had ensued with hair-pul ing and lots of wild screaming.
Eighteen years later, there was no hair-pul ing in the relationship, but occasional y there was a bit of screaming.
Cleo had last roared at Trish when her friend shamefacedly admitted that she hadn’t actual y dumped her current boyfriend as planned, even though he’d been seen in a clinch with another woman at a New Year’s party.
‘He says he’s sorry,’ Trish protested.
‘Until the next time,’ Cleo said angrily. ‘If he did that to me, he’d be on his way to casualty right now, whining for a morphine suppository to put him out of his misery.’ She meant it. Cleo mightn’t have had a long line of boyfriends but those she’d had had known not to mess her around.
The guy who’d promised devotion after one evening, and that he’d phone but hadn’t, would always remember having his drink poured over his head in the pub the next day while Cleo loudly, and to the amusement of the whole premises, told him not to make promises he didn’t intend to keep.
‘Honesty is the best policy,’ she’d said as he sat with beer dripping down his astonished face. ‘If you didn’t want to see me again, al you had to do was say so. I’m not the sort of woman who likes waiting for the phone to ring.’
Today, Trish was the one trying to make her friend see sense. ‘Why did you turn it down? Why? It was a perfectly good job. What is the point of saying no to a good job in Donegal when your family takes no notice of you? Your dad’s not going
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